Something about the light around the time of the equinox is magical. It is not the full-power of summer sun. Nor is it the extreme shadows and softness of the low winter light. Added to the in-betweeny position of the solar furnace millions of miles away, there is the special thrill when the autumn leaves show their true colors after the cold nights send the chlorophyll of green leaves away. Then when the clouds break to reveal the particular blue of late October and the angle of the sun is between viewer and the colorful trees to create a backlit glow, the eye is readily caught by the spectacle. The scene seems to sing out, “We are here. Look this way.” That is when a natural reply seems to bubble up inside to say, “I see you. Such a great wonder and beauty you display.”
Darshan, or darsana, is the experience of witnessing a god or holy presence. The word roots and the source of the belief is the mountains of South and Central Asia. Borrowing this idea and transposing it far from its origins, a similar sensibility can fit into the small wonders of daily routine in modern life with all its distractions, overstimulation of the senses, and burdens of too many choices. Just as the clouds break and the bright fall leaves on the branch or the ones heaped on the ground are lit up, that is when the trance of modern habits can be broken for a moment and the unexpected surprise of beauty right in front of one’s eyes can make magic. Likewise at the moment when a bit of wildlife crosses one’s path –the honking of a flight of geese in migration, the scamper of a mouse across one’s path, the arrival of an early dragonfly at one’s window. These times of raw encounter, unmediated by words to narrate or unhampered by the urge to snap a picture for social media sharing, these are the times to feel darshana at play. It comes as a kind of blessing to be in the presence of something wonderful and unconnected to the cultural logic and restraints that give shape to one’s own world view. That is why a stroke of luck or a brush with serendipity in unexpected beauty or life-form calls for a (non-verbal) response that says, “I see you,” to acknowledge what is happening.
Once the habit of stilling one’s monkey-mind becomes established, it is easier and easier to pause from whatever preoccupations are filling one’s mind and to give full attention to the pleasure of momentary delight from the light, the sound, the color, the rain, the wildlife in plant or animal form. Soon this effervescent thrill comes more often and more freely, offering a nice counterweight to the world of words and deeds that comprise most of one’s waking hours. And after many instances of that feeling of “I see you” rising up, perhaps there is something new that comes in return. First comes the intrusion of beauty or untamed life, next comes the urge to acknowledge the call with “I see you.” Then, maybe, now in reply comes the awareness that the beautiful scene or the wild creature reciprocates an acknowledgement by looking back at you with an unuttered meaning of “and I see you, too.”
Video snapshot of sunlight twinkling on water, flickering in leaves.
